


All There Is

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Kinktober2019 [25]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boot Worship, D/s, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Kink, Kinktober, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, S&M, Sub Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 00:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21170699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: After a too long work trip, Bucky comes home to Steve.





	All There Is

**Author's Note:**

> So legit no one requested this, it just fulfills my own, you know, kinks. So. There's that. Oh hey - plus actual smut this time!!!  
Now beta read by Ro!!!

* * *

* * *

He was slim and sharp and pale, dark upholstery of the chair surrounding Steve like a cloak, and Bucky couldn’t help but grin.

Fuck, but he’d missed Steve. 

He dropped his bags and kicked the door closed and-

And then his exhausted brain caught up and filtered in details.

Details like Steve wearing a white A-tank - the fancy, expensive kind that were cut differently than the bargain bag of six he used to buy before Bucky converted him. An A-tank and suspenders and tight, black leather pants and boots. 

The boots.

The knee-high black boots that were so highly polished they looked silver-white when the light hit them right.

Bucky swallowed hard and leaned back against the door.

“Missed me?” he asked, letting his grin turn lopsided.

Steve spread his legs wide, leather creaking, and all but glowered over at Bucky.

“Facetime loses its luster after a month, Buck.”

Steve’s voice was rough and low, and shivered over Bucky’s spine in a way that it only ever did when they were together. Steve was right. Facetime… sure as hell wasn’t enough.

Steve lifted his right hand and pointed at the spot on the floor between his spread legs with one long, elegant finger.

“I smell like an airport, Stevie,” Bucky sighed.

Steve’s hand didn’t waver.

“I don’t care if you don’t.”

Steve’s eyes were huge and dark in his face, and Bucky wanted to drown in them. Wanted to drown in Steve.

Fuck, but he was tired.

Still.

Steve was right there, looking like all the best and worst things Bucky dreamed about.

Bucky locked the door and pushed himself upright.

He pulled off his sweater, toed off his shoes, yanked off his shirt and shimmied out of his jeans and his briefs, and awkwardly tugged his socks off.

And then he got down and crawled over to Steve and leaned into the shelter of his narrow thighs.

Steve’s fingers were in his hair almost immediately, tender and rough, yanking Bucky’s hair out of the loose bun he’d been sporting all day, nailing scraping over Bucky’s scalp.

It brought him back down to earth like nothing else ever could, and Bucky closed his eyes and breathed in deep, the smells of home and Steve filling his nose.

And then Steve was taking a fistful of Bucky’s hair and lifting his lolling head from Steve’s belly and shoving him towards the floor.

“How many days has it been since you’ve even bothered to polish these?” Steve snarled, fingers lightning-bright pricks of pain that didn’t cut anywhere near as deep as his words.

Bucky drew in an unsteady breath, licked his lips and stared down at Steve’s boot-clad feet with watery eyes.

“Thirty-five days,” he croaked when Steve gave another vicious yank.

“Neglectful,” Steve said.

They had debated it, that last night while Bucky double-checked his bags, hours after the last coat of polish had dried on the boots - because like hell was he leaving when there was even a threat of a scuff on them. Steve had suggested Bucky take them with him. Bucky had pointed out how utterly useless they were if Steve wasn’t there to wear them.

In the end, Steve had made him pack a spare polish kit and the ankle boots that Steve wore to fancy dinners, and twice a week when they used Facetime, Steve made him polish the boots.

Of course, not surprisingly but also… endearingly, the boots Steve wore now were spotless, were just as brilliant and smooth and reflective as they had been thirty-five days ago.

And it wasn’t like Bucky thought Steve would go around wearing them without Bucky around to appreciate them, but… it still meant something to him.

Steve used to think it was something to do with Bucky’s days in the Army, had shared that theory with Sam one night while their friend was on the couch nursing a beer and using Bucky’s bare, freshly-spanked and fucked ass as a footrest for his own boot-clad feet.

Sam had snorted a laugh, had nudged Bucky’s hip and said there was  _ no fucking way this hipster twink appreciated anyting about Army regs then or now, and Steve have you  _ seen _ how low his v-neck shirts are? You can see his fucking happy trail half the time _ .  _ Plus, I knew this asshole back in the day. If there wasn’t a chance of someone else taking his uniform off of him and railing him, he was the sloppiest bitch possible. _

So Steve had abandoned that theory, to Bucky’s relief, because while Sam was  _ right.  _ Every time Steve brought it up, Bucky couldn’t help but fantasize about Steve in some kind of military fetish gear, and he already had enough fantasies for Steve to force from him - he didn’t need another.

“Get to work, Buck.” Steve pushed his head so low that he mashed Bucky’s nose into the smooth, warm leather of the boot.

He was lucky, because one time he’d given Steve so much shit for getting paint on the  _ brand fucking new _ pair of work boots Bucky had bought him that Steve had come home, pulled out  _ these _ boots and proceeded to coat them in flour and salt and brown sugar and olive oil and anything edible that would stick, and he’d made Bucky lick them clean while he watched  _ Blue Planet _ .

Then again, this was a different kind of reminder about Bucky’s place at Steve’s feet. 

Bucky opened his mouth and licked from Steve’s ankle to the toe of the boot, the taste familiar and grounding and so inexplicably perfect.

He licked and licked, losing himself in the taste and feel and slick slide, not even noticing when Steve’s hand left his hair or feeling Steve shift or noticing much of  _ anything _ at all.

Until Steve’s hand was back, pulling Bucky’s face away from his feet and shoving Bucky into position, sitting on his ass, mouth pried open, and Steve was jerking his own cock with ferocious determination until he came all over Bucky’s face.

Bucky licked Steve clean, used his hands to wipe at Steve’s come and push it into his mouth.

And then Steve was kissing him and they were losing their balance, and Bucky was on his back on the floor with Steve wrapped around him.

“Good boy,” Steve sighed into his mouth. He bit Bucky’s lower lip until Bucky cried. “You can clean the other one in the morning while I fuck you.”

Bucky whimpered, and he closed his eyes.

It was so damn good to be home.

-o-

  
  
  



End file.
